


White Picket Fence

by froggy (therealfroggy)



Series: Tea and Cookies [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last instalment in the <em>Tea and Cookies</em> trilogy. T-Bag gets caught up by the authorities again - this time in Central America. Who will come to his aid?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting out, getting laid

“Marna, call for you on line two.”

Marna reached for her phone. “Who is it?”

“He didn't say; just said to thank you for the cookies,” her secretary called, her chewing-gum-and-hairspray voice loud and jarring as always.

Marna flinched, knocking over her coffee cup. Cookies. Only one man could be calling her up at the office to thank her for the cookies.

“Thanks, Annie. I'll take it.” Heart thumping in her chest, Marna picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

_“Hello, Cookie.”_

The familiar drawl sent a fresh bout of shivers down her spine. “T – Ted,” she corrected herself, making sure her nosy secretary wouldn't suspect anything. “It's been forever! How are you?”

_“I take it you're bein' discreet,”_ came the Alabamian lilt. _“I'll be brief, then. I'm in a kinda tight spot, Cookie, an' I was hopin' ya could help me out.”_

“I'd be happy to,” Marna said, her stomach doing back flips. “Details?”

_“Not here. I need ya to come to Panama. I'm back in the ol' prison blues, an' these_ piñatas _are givin' me hell.”_.

Panama! How the hell had he managed to get himself into trouble there? The last time Marna had seen him, he had been on a private air plane on its way to Brazil.

“Which town?” she heard herself ask.

***

Stepping out of her taxi in down town Panama City, Marna hoisted her bag higher up on her shoulder and reached in the window to pay the driver. The streets were warm, dry and dusty, and the prison wasn't far from the obvious prostitution district, in which girls, boys and women of all shapes and ages wore more or less the same outfits screaming _For Sale_.

Upon entering the prison, Marna was shown to the captain, as he was the only one on watch who spoke English.

“How may I help you?” he said, formally and not too fluently.

“I'm here as a legal representative of one of your prisoners,” Marna said. “One which I'm not so sure should even be in here.”

“You may speak with him,” the captain said disinterestedly, “but we have no one in here who should not be here. Which one is it?”

“An American,” Marna said, frowning. “Not too tall, goatee, brown hair and eyes...”

The officer looked confused for a moment, then said, “Not brown hair now. I think I know which one. Come with me.”

Walking down a hallway, Marna could see bars at the end of it. Upon reaching them she was faced with the sight of about a dozen or so unwashed men hanging around in a large room with barred windows and no furniture. Most of them looked up when they heard her arrive, but all but one lost interest as soon as they saw they didn't know her.

“'Ey, gringo!” the captain shouted.

Marna's heart leapt to her throat as she saw T-Bag coming towards them at a stroll. His hair was indeed no longer dark brown; it was a cocky blonde (though with dark roots). His goatee was also plainly on a mission to grow back; it was shorter than when she had last seen him, and untrimmed.

But oh, that hellish smile was gracing his lips like never before.

“Theodore,” she greeted, trying to stop herself from staring. “Long time no see.”

“Too long,” he said, raking his eyes down her body. “Now how 'bout gettin' me out, an' I'll tell ya all about it later.”

“I just need a few details first,” Marna quickly said, pulling out a pad and pencil. “Why are you in here?”

“Cops found me nailed to the floor of a cabin with a knife through my wrist,” he said darkly. Marna almost shivered at the sound of the anger in his voice.

“That's it? They found you bleeding in the forest so they arrested you?”

T-Bag shrugged, giving her a remorseless grin. “Tha's all they got evidence for.”

For a moment, Marna saw dead women flash through her mind, but pushed it firmly out of her head again. “No witnesses, no fingerprints, no nothing?”

T-Bag shook his head. “Their only witnesses are wanted by the F – B – I,” he lilted, hanging off the bars in an arrogant sort of way and licking his lips slowly. “They ain't even gotten me a lawyer.”

Marna offered a slight smile. “Well, I'm here now. Not that I have any experience in the field, but I did a little research, and we should have you out of there in no time.”

T-Bag laughed. “Ya just never cease to amaze me, Cookie.”

***

“So, how did ya get me out? I figured they had me up for another life sentence,” T-Bag drawled some two hours later, as they were both in the back of a taxi headed for Marna's hotel.

“They had no reason to imprison you. I just pointed that out to them,” Marna said simply, hoping their driver did not speak English _and_ watch the news. “No evidence of any crime, no witnesses... All they had was some other man's claim that you murdered a woman, but they had no reason to believe his statement.”

“Do you, Cookie?”

Marna didn't answer him. The cab stopped outside the hotel, and Marna led the way up into her room. The place was rather shabby.

“Double bed,” T-Bag commented when he entered the room. “You countin' on somethin'?”

“No expectations,” Marna countered, dropping her bag next to the bed and sitting down on it. “But I need to know some things, T-Bag.”

With an unreadable look, he sat down in the room's only chair and held her eyes. “I can't promise anythin', Cookie.”

“I know. Just... How did you get here? I thought you were in Brazil,” she said.

“I was. But, uh, the law caught up with me, in a manner of speakin'. Federal... agents. I struck me up a deal; I'd get'em Scofield and they'd let me off. But things... backfired.”

Marna couldn't help but smile sarcastically despite the situation. “You did kill someone, didn't you.” _Not exactly a question, was it?_

“Would be lyin' if I told ya no, Cookie. I did. But don't ask me for details,” he said, and the conversation was clearly over.

Marna nodded, then got up. “Want something to drink? There's a semi-decent mini bar here, at least.”

T-Bag got up to stand right behind her, pressing his hips against hers as she bent to open the mini bar. “Yeah, a drink sounds jus' right. An'... maybe a lil' refreshment.”

The sentence ended in a hiss right against her ear. Marna bit her bottom lip as his body pressed full against hers. “Already, T-Bag?”

“Always,” came his answering purr.

“What can I get you, then?” she moaned – he had started running his hands down her sides.

“Cookies,” he said, “Chocolate an' caramel.” Then his tongue found its way to her earlobe, and she melted in his arms as he began nipping and sucking it lightly.

“You've missed me, haven't ya?” he hissed into her ear, his hands grasping her hips roughly and his erection pressing into her backside.

Marna bit her lip and gave another moan in the affirmative. Abandoning the mini bar, she let herself be pushed against the wall next to it. T-Bag was breathing shallowly against her neck.

“Tell me,” he demanded, bunching her skirt up around her waist and sliding her underwear quickly down. “I wanna hear ya say it.”

“I missed you, Teddy,” she admitted, closing her eyes and relishing in the feel of his skin suddenly hot against hers. “I thought about you... I wanted you. I want you now, Teddy. I want you to fuck me.”

His need for confirmation sated, T-Bag spread her legs further apart and slid two fingers into her. “I know,” he hissed in her ear. “You're just pantin' for it, ain't ya? I got ya this wet, Cookie. Ya know it.”

“Yes,” she moaned. He began pushing into her, biting harshly where her neck met her shoulder. “I'm yours, Teddy. I know that now.”

God, she had missed him! As she felt him filling her body, pushing into her, her cheek against the wall, she admitted it to herself as well as to him – she was his.

“Ah, Cookie,” he murmured in her ear. His lips were grazing her skin with each word. “I'm the only one who makes ya this hot. This desperate. You _need_ me, don't you?”

Moaning and panting, Marna told him yes over and over again, loving how he felt inside her. He reached around her to find her most sensitive spot and began working it roughly. Marna screamed with pleasure.

“Scream,” he commanded, caressing her relentlessly and breaking away from the love bite blooming on her neck. “Scream for me when ya come, Cookie.”

“God, yes!” she cried, head thrown back and chest heaving. She was caught up in it all; so hot and so chaotic. She shivered and convulsed around him as she came. “Theodore!”

Grunting into her hair, he pumped into her, climaxing the second he felt her sag in his arms. Marna could feel his come running down her thighs.

“You _are_ mine, ain't that right, Cookie,” he panted, not moving but pinning her body to the wall with his own.

“Teddy,” she breathed, “How do you make me like this? I can't, I... I shouldn't. But I want you.”

“Funny, I thought ya just had me,” T-Bag said with a smirk in his voice. He moved back from her and pulled her around. His expression was relaxed, sated. Not like it had been in Fox River, nor when he had visited her flat.

“I'm serious,” Marna said, taking a chance and staring straight into his eyes. “You asked me if I wanted to come with you. I do. I said I couldn't, but I have to. You make me feel like I don't have any choice. But what I need to know is, what will happen if I do?”

T-Bag didn't look at her. He turned away, doing his pants back up. “I need a shower,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom.

Marna closed her eyes and sighed. _Well, this is a confusing situation if there ever was one. Damn him._ She had been brutally honest, and he had not responded. Where did that leave them?

_Well. I need a shower too, and we both need a decent meal. We can figure the rest out later._


	2. Solutions

The small table in the hotel room was littered with empty water bottles, soda cans and take-away boxes. The day had passed in showers, a light meal, more sex, and then another meal. They had hardly spoken beyond the teasing preceding their shag, and Marna was beginning to feel like something had to be said, and soon.

“T-Bag?” she began, but he waved a hand to stop her.

“No, no, don't call me that,” he said, sounding... disappointed? “Make me sound like...”

He didn't finish the sentence, but Marna knew what he meant. Like a rapist, like a murderer, like a criminal.

“Theodore,” she amended, reaching for his hand before changing her mind. Folding her hands in her lap, she tried looking him straight in the eye before she went on. “Do you still want me to come with you?”

T-Bag gave a shrug. “If ya wanna. I ain't forcin' anyone.”

“Exactly,” Marna pressed, no longer resisting the urge to lightly place her fingertips against the back of his hand. “You're not forcing me. I am not a victim. Why... Why the change?”

T-Bag seemed very unwilling to answer, and Marna frowned, until it hit her. _“You make me feel like I don't have any choice.”_ He didn't want another victim; he wanted someone who wanted him back. _How could I not have seen that? It fits his profile so perfectly after his history with this Susan woman!_

“You don't want me to... You want me to come freely, of my own will,” she smiled. T-Bag's hand twitched, but he showed no other reaction to her words.

“I didn't mean it like that, Theodore. I... It's complicated. I won't presume to say I love you, not even that I'm in love with you. But I still need you. I want to go with you because I'll never find anyone who gives me what you do, and I can't let that go. Do you understand that?”

Marna chewed her lip, worried she might have said too much. Theodore Bagwell was not a man to be taken lightly, to annoy or to tease. But she meant every word, though the wording had hardly been poetic, and she simply didn't think anything would work better than honesty in this particular case.

“I do, Cookie,” he said, twisting his tongue contemplatively. “An' I can promise ya that if ya go with me, I will do my best to keep both of us safe. But, Cookie...” Here he leaned closer to her, staring into her eyes intently. “You'd be mine, understand? I'll take ya an' do just what's necessary to keep us free an' alive, but then you'll belong to me. Hold my pocket; no one else's.”

“I would have no problem agreeing to that, if I knew you wouldn't kill or rape anyone again,” Marna suggested hopefully. “I don't expect anything, really, I don't, but I just... don't think I could defend you to myself, knowing you were ruining lives just for the fun of it.”

T-Bag looked almost offended for a minute, then smiled nastily, licking his front teeth. “Now that rapin' part ain't gonna be a problem, Cookie. See, I'll be comin' home to you every night, won't I? Several times a day, too, judgin' by our tempo here.”

Marna couldn't help but smile. True, she could think of a few other ways to engage his energy than the stalking of unwilling victims.

“An' the killin' thang? Well, this is the problem, Cookie; if we were to be in a country where the feds could get to us, then it would be both you an' me on the line if someone recognized us. So if that happened, then I might jus' have to take care o' the problem, wouldn't ya say?”

“If that is the case, my instinct would be to run,” Marna replied, feeling slightly worried. “But I know I can't do anything to change that. You're a marked man.”

“And I am a fixer, too,” T-Bag added, smiling again. “You run, I fix. That's how it'll be, Cookie; jus' you an' me, runnin' an' fixin'.”

There was a silence about the room after T-Bag's words; thick with planning and new prospects.

“I'll sell the flat,” Marna said, “and make all the necessary arrangements. The money from my savings and flat should be able to get us anywhere in the world, really. I suggest we get as far away as possible.”

“Europe,” T-Bag said promptly. “You ever been to Italy, Cookie?”

“Italy?”

“Italy,” he confirmed, nodding. “They have wine for lunch there, did ya know? We can get us one o' them lil' terracotta houses in the country side, like.”

Marna laughed. “Planning the white picket fence already? If that's what you want, Teddy. But I warn you; I will have to get work. I can't stand being unemployed.”

T-Bag shrugged. “No problem. 'S long as we get away from the feds, Cookie.”

***

_Italy. Terracotta houses and wine for lunch._ Marna sat on the small balcony outside their room, gazing out onto the city stretching out underneath her. She didn't see a thing; her mind was busily employed elsewhere.

If she and T-Bag left for Italy, it would mean the end of everything she knew. She loved her job, but she supposed she could find work for an English speaking psychologists wherever they ended up. She didn't mind changing scenery; she had, after all, grown up in the Irish country side, and didn't particularly like living in the city. Her family would actually be closer to her should she move to Europe, too.

Not that she ever expected to ever be able to present T-Bag to her family. Or see much of them. But all in all, the advantages and disadvantages of the change would even each other out.

That was, the purely _practical_ advantages and disadvantages. Ethics? Security? Ambitions for the future? She would have to give all of those up. She had no guarantee whatsoever that they would be able to settle down – or that her new “boyfriend” wouldn't ruin it all by killing someone. Furthermore, she had been honest when she said that she did not love him. Perhaps she would do so over time, but for the time being, their relationship seemed purely based on physical need and a shared fascination for each other. What if she never came to care for him more than she presently did?

_You know you already care for him, girl. He's the best man you ever came across. Does that say more about him or you?_ She covered her eyes with her hand, reluctant to make this decision just yet. Couldn't they just stay here in Panama for a few days? Just until she felt safe with him?

“All that thinkin' can't be good for ya, Cookie.”

Marna still shivered when he hissed things in her ear like that. She smiled as he slid his hands slowly down into her bath robe, cupping her breasts and breathing deeply in her hair.

“What, women shouldn't be intellectuals?” she laughed, tilting her head to give his lips access to the side of her neck.

“Oh, they most certainly should be,” he murmured, then bit playfully at her skin. “But you... look worried. I ain't never liked it when women seemed nervous while with me.”

“I was worried,” she conceded, “but I think I figured it out.”

“Your solution?” He reached her earlobe and started doing such naughty things to it with that tongue. _God yes, that tongue!_

“I'd like for us to stay... mmm, yes... for a few days. Just stay here until I can get used to the idea of... us,” she said, reaching one hand up to hook around his neck.

“I won't deny ya that, Cookie,” he said into her skin. “But only...” More bites. “If ya talk to me.” A broad swipe of his tongue along her skin.

“Talk to you, Teddy?”

“Tell me,” he hissed, “everythin'. I don't want ya worryin' 'bout me without me knowin' it.”

“I never worry about you, Teddy,” she purred, letting herself be pulled to her feet and following him into the room. “I worry about us.”

“That's why you were gone when I woke up?” he said, voice casual but lips demanding on her breast. He was naked, skin searingly hot against hers.

“I needed to think,” she moaned. “I didn't want to wake you. I didn't leave, Theodore – I just needed some air.”

“No, ya didn't leave,” he agreed. “An' ya won't. Ever.”

Biting her lip, Marna gave her final consent and shook her head. She wouldn't leave. Ever.

“The bed,” T-Bag whispered in her ear, pressing her close so she could feel his erection hard against her hip. He picked her up, carrying her quickly over to the bed before laying her down across it. Obviously not in the mood for niceties, he pulled her belt loose and knelt over her. Marna spread her legs, waiting for him to lie down between them.

T-Bag dipped his head to nibble gently at her nipple, causing her to writhe beneath him. “Say it, Cookie,” he demanded, sliding slowly into her. “Say it. Now.”

Marna moaned with desperation as he stilled completely, panting, fully inside her.

“Teddy,” she breathed, “I don't... Oh God!” He was pressing hard against her clit with one finger; pressing and filling her. She didn't know what to say; she needed more but she couldn't make him.

“More,” she pleaded, curling her legs around his waist, clenching around him. “Please, Teddy, I need more! Oh God, Teddy, I -”

“I wanna hear ya say it, Cookie,” he hissed in her ear, rolling his hips once, slowly. Marna screamed with pleasure. “Who ya belong to. Say it!” He thrust hard, once.

“You!” Marna moaned, crooning with relief as he began thrusting slowly. “I'm yours, Teddy; you... oh...”

He held her hands down over her head, removing every last bit of control. Marna's breath hitched in her throat when he closed one hand around her throat, squeezing slightly. Her breathing became laboured; she writhed and moaned hoarsely beneath him. He was so hard inside her, so demanding, so... so... _Oh God, more!_

He released her hands, moving that hand down to caress her roughly. Marna gave a strangled scream as he flicked his fingers mercilessly against her clit, driving her to insanity while her lungs struggled for air and her body bucked against his.

“Teddy,” she whispered, “Oh, Teddy, please, I -”

He covered her lips with his, then; her last supply of air was cut off as his tongue thrust in time with his cock. She gave herself over to him completely; just as darkness began tingeing her vision, she gave in and let him throw her into orgasm.

Suddenly he released her, and air rushed into her lungs. She screamed as her climax was magnified, thundering through her, rushing her mind away. She could feel nothing but his skin, his hands, his hot mouth as he ravished her, demanding her submission. Flying, falling, landing in ecstasy.

“Yours,” she panted, feeling the sparks fade and the fire ebb through her. “Oh Teddy, God, I'm yours!” She screamed again as he bit at her throat; screamed because she knew he wanted her to. He thrust violently into her, marking her with bites and harsh thrusts and dirty words whispered in her ear.

His body tightened, his head fell back. Marna felt him gasp into her skin, and clung to his shoulders. “Yours, Teddy,” she whispered, and he came, filling her, claiming her again. Feeling him release his passion inside her, Marna sighed contentedly and let him sink down on top of her, panting and languidly rolling his hips against hers.

“Ah, Cookie,” he said hoarsely, “such a good girl.”

“I've got your pocket, Teddy,” she whispered against his ear, smiling to herself. “I've got your pocket and I won't let go.”


	3. Not exactly a white picket fence

Sex. Take-away food. Sleep interrupted by more sex, late breakfasts and then some rest before sex. Four days in Panama City passed in a blur, until Marna woke up on the fifth morning and got out of their hotel bed. Smiling to herself, she picked up the phone.

When T-Bag woke up an hour later, she was back in bed, naked and smiling at him. When he thrust into her ten minutes later, she screamed his name with passion. And when they lay sated in bed fifteen minutes later still, Marna was slowly caressing the bruises his grip had formed on her hips, admiring how they somehow fit her tanned skin so well.

“I called in my resignation today,” she said. T-Bag looked at her, but didn't interrupt. “I also called up a real-estate agent. I'll go back and sign the papers when everything is settled, and then we'll book a flight to Italy.”

T-Bag was looking at the ceiling, hands behind his head. “You're one twisted lil' thang, ya know that, Cookie?”

“I know. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Now whaddaya say we call room service? I feel like breakfast in bed.”

“Definitely,” Marna conceded, sighing contentedly. “I want croissants, fresh fruit, tea and cookies.”

“Chocolate an' caramel?” T-Bag smirked.

“Is there any other kind?”

As T-Bag ignored his breakfast some twenty minutes later in favour of kissing and licking his way down her body, Marna fisted her hands in his hair and begged for him never to stop. And then she thought of unstable murderers, breaking the law and eating cookies in bed. When they once more gave up on getting out of the hotel room for the day at around noon, she thought of bruises forming on her skin and life debts from Fox River.

As they boarded the plane to Italy some five weeks later, Marna still sore from reuniting with Theodore mere hours before after signing some papers in the States, she thought of the white picket fence and told it to go to hell with an express ticket. She had sex and bruises and an Alabamian accent.


End file.
